


Sunday morning

by Judin



Category: DCU
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Morning Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-10
Updated: 2014-10-10
Packaged: 2018-02-20 15:11:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2433311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Judin/pseuds/Judin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce comes home after patrol. Clark is there to welcome him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sunday morning

**Author's Note:**

> I was bored and sleepy in class, so I decided to practice my fluffy porn writing skills.

He returns home out of the icy rain at five in the morning, showers in the cave and drags himself up the stairs into the silent house. He could have collapsed on the cot in the cave, but there is a reward waiting for him in the master bedroom. He opens the door quietly. The curtains aren’t drawn, leaving everything soaked in the golden-grey light of pre-dawn.

Not even Bruce’s huge bed can dwarf Clark, who is sprawled half on his own side and half on Bruce’s, mouth open and hair messy. He snores surprisingly softly, though. Bruce has a sudden urge to crawl into the man’s big arms and curl up there. He blames it on a long, miserable night with no leads, shakes it off and shucks his sweatpants and tank top, going to the drawers to find a t-shirt to sleep in; Clark will be off for work soon, and Bruce knows from experience that most of the heat will go with him.

The snoring stops. Bruce looks over his shoulder and finds Clark squinting at him, with a ready smile despite the ungodly hour.

“Hello,” Clark says, voice sleep-rough in a way that reminds Bruce of other things and sends a frisson of desire through him.

“Good morning,” he replies gently, mindful of the unwritten rules of early morning hours, the fragility of its light and its illusion of timelessness.

“Come here.” Clark holds open the covers, and Bruce figures t-shirts are overrated, especially when your lover is wearing his ridiculous pajamas with the open shirt and you can feel his skin against your own. He sinks happily into the warmth and comfort of their bed. 

Immediately his eyelids begin to drop, getting with the program, and he’s too tired to protest when Clark, a notorious cuddler, pulls him into his arms and nuzzles his bare chest. The best Bruce can do is a grumble, actually quite happy to sleep all wrapped around his very own extraterrestrial heat source. Clark has other ideas though, lazily dragging his lips over Bruce’s pectorals, briefly latching on to a sensitive nipple before shifting further down. Bruce makes indecisive cat-noises, pawing at Clark’s shoulders even as they slide out of his reach. Clark moves relentlessly southward.

“Mrrms, Claark.” Bruce’s eyes are already asleep, but his body is growing hungry, getting with a different program altogether.

Clark folds down the waistband of Bruce’s boxers and mouths at the ticklish skin of his lower belly. Big strong hands slide around to cup Bruce’s ass, gently kneading. Bruce turns his face into the pillow to bury a groan. Clark knows him too well. His boxers are growing tight around his heavy cock, pleasure soaking into his spine and curling like heat through his groin.

“Nnngh, Clark, sleepy,” he complains.

“I know,” Clark replies amusedly, finding the head of Bruce’s cock and sucking on it through the silk. “But you’re wound too tight. I want to help.” He sets his teeth carefully around the swollen head and holds it still for his tongue to flick around, faster and harder than any ordinary man could do.

Bruce shudders, fighting to stay quiet. “You just want my body, grabby alien.”

He _feels_ Clark’s smile, and it makes him a little giddy.

“Got me,” Clark murmurs, nuzzling down to Bruce’s balls and teasing them with light kisses. “I’ve been lying here all night, longing for your body. Imagining …” He peels the boxers down, effortlessly lifting Bruce’s hips to get them out from under him, but leaves them folded tight just under his ass, constricting, erotic. “Your cock…” A breath of cold air is all the warning Bruce gets and he braces himself, cock twitching. “In my mouth.” Clark licks a firebrand stripe up the shaft of Bruce’s cock before closing his mouth around the head and exhaling sharply cold air.

Bruce shouts, bucking as pleasure zings through his groin.

Clark drags his blunt nails over Bruce’s buttocks and sinks further down on his prize, bobbing slowly, lips tight around him. Bruce bites the pillow, feeling like a violin set to howling by a skilled bowman. This is going to be over embarrassingly fast.

Who knew Clark Kent was such an eager little cock-sucker? Not that Bruce plans to share it with anyone.

Clark hums happily and frees a hand to find and rub Bruce’s perineum. Bruce tries to spread his legs and finds he can’t, is inexplicably turned on by this and decides to let Clark know by threading his fingers through his hair and pushing his cock down his throat. Clark is clearly fighting not to smile, damn him, but goes willingly, throat constricting in an entirely deliberate way that makes Bruce see stars.

The muscles in Bruce’s thighs and stomach are beginning to tense up, pressure mounting behind his balls, just a little more …

Clark bobs faster, sucks harder, then pulls up almost all the way and makes his tongue _vibrate_ against the good spot just under the head of Bruce’s cock.

Bruce comes with a yelp.

Clark adds his hands to the mix to milk Bruce through orgasm with even strokes, while Bruce tenses and shudders. Clark swallows until Bruce is too sensitive and has to push him away, gasping.

Clark gives him a final nuzzle, helps him pull his boxers back up and then crawls up to collapse beside him.

“Felling more relaxed now?”

“Fiend,” Bruce says affectionately, pulling him in for a kiss. A bit of ice keeps morning breath from being an issue.

They make out languidly for a little while, but when Bruce ventures downwards with his hands, Clark catches them and shakes his head. “Not yet. That was to help you sleep, and you can reward me for my hard work when you wake up later.”

Bruce frowns. “I’ll need more than an hour of sleep if you want anything more complicated.”

Clark looks confused. “An hour?”

“Don’t you have work in a few?”

Clark snorts. “I think I sucked your brains out of your dick. It’s my Sunday off, remember?”

Bruce feels stupid. He leans his forehead against Clark’s chest and closes his eyes. “I’m going to sleep now.”

“That sounds like a good plan.” There is laughter in his voice. “Good night, Bruce.”

“Good morning, Clark.”

In the end, Bruce gets to sleep curled up in his lover’s big arms after all, and if he’s honest with himself, he always enjoys that, long miserable night or no.


End file.
